by Eden Butler
I couldn’t listen anymore. Ransom had me so twisted, so caught up in the need to help him, to hold him. But what shouted louder, overtook the eager need to heal him was that loud urge of self-preservation. I didn’t know which call made more sense. So I didn’t listen to either. My body did ache, but it was from the frustration of loving someone who’d forgotten how to love themselves. And so I crawled back to my bed weary and a little more broken by the anger at the man on the other side of the door and that constant need I felt to let him inside. And despite everything, I fell asleep.
She was free, uninhibited, a burst of sunlight that broke through the dark. Aly danced like the stage was nothing, like the crowd held no power over how she moved or the spell she spun on every person that followed her movements. I would burn to feel her light just for a second.
I hated that she was a hundred feet away, dancing center stage with the other instructors, some lyrical number that hid her, just slightly, in its banality. There was no pumping bass, no sultry weave of her hips, her body moving like I’d seen it so often—that wild, free abandon, that swirl and shake that could tempt even the most faithful man. She moved on that stage and I stared down, manning the lights, only because Leann needed my help.
I couldn’t make my gaze move from the stretch of her body. She was light and dark, leading the others, body bending, arching, stretching toward the silks that came down from the rafters like petals from crepe myrtles in summer. Just as soft, just as constant.
Aly and the other three instructors shifted into position, wrapping around the brightly colored silks like they were appendages. The transition was amazing—four solid, graceful bodies twirling in the air, following the music and the low strum of chords, feet from the stage. I tried not to remember the first time I had seen this kind of dance up close. I tried to think about something else, something boring and beige so that the memory of Aly in that mask, that long blonde wig, spinning around the small Summerland’s stage would not catch me off guard. I didn’t need a reminder of that dancer, not when the woman she’d been, the real person I cared about spun and twisted, swayed and flew right below me on the stage.
It had been days since I told her to cut me loose. More hours than I thought I’d be able to manage without seeing her. More time that I spent ignoring the voice when it came.
“Light cue 24, and—go” I heard over the headset from Billy, the stage manager, and I punched the button to bring up a patterned gobo effect on the stage, adding the illuminated outline of shapes to enhance the effect of the music and the silks. It reminded me of something out of a fairytale, something that could not be anything but supernatural. Like Aly.
I stretched back in my chair, sliding into the darkest corner of the booth so Billy would not see me watching her. I knew the routine, had seen the rehearsal at least half a dozen times. But the performance was different. The lights, the crowd, the bustle in the auditorium spun some kind of magic and at the center, like she controlled the rush of energy, held tight the attention of the crowd in her small palms, Aly danced, spun in her silks, then twisted onto her ass to slide toward the edge of the stage.
“Cue 25, and—go.”
I nodded at Billy’s instruction, and the lights dimmed in anticipation of the Acro transition, that strange combination of dance and gymnastics—all the explanations I’d heard Leann and Aly discussing for a month.
The women fell together in line then, when a burst of drums and the clash of strings brought in the crescendo, they separated, fell away from each other, in a mirror of movements, then quickly spun off on their own—one maneuvering her body into a Valdez—back walkover, one in a one-handed front walkover, one in a walking handstand, but Aly topped them all, lifting from the floor and straight into a front aerial that pulled gasps and a wave of applause from the audience.
And then, she took that applause, the thrill it gave her poured from the glow on her skin and that pretty flush streaking up her neck, and her brilliant smile. She looked beautiful. She always did but never more than when she was happy.
Without thinking about how I’d walked away from her that night in Tremé, without really questioning why she hadn’t called me or opened even one of my pathetic texts, a decision came to me, one that was selfish and stupid. I moved before I gave myself a chance to stop and think about it. My legs carried me around the booth, down the stairs while the dancers left the stage. I got held up backstage by the throng of girls excitedly moving in line toward the stage for the next routine. Then, I stopped, retreated beyond the dressing rooms when Aly rushed past me, shoving on her high heels and Leann zipping up her way-too-short flowy skirt.
The Kizomba. I didn’t want to see that shit.
Tommy would hold her tight, would lead her around that stage, move her so that what she was, how she moved, became an accessory. Aly was not an accessory. She was the fine, rich fabric that held me together, even when I tried to tear at the threads. She was woven into every thought I’d had. She was the crasher of doubt, the sparkle I’d tried to rub dull for months.
I couldn’t watch Tommy try to outshine her. Besides, I’d made enough enemies in the past year and a half. I didn’t need any more and I suspected glaring at them stage right, as they finished their routine would put me first on Aly’s hit list.
I didn’t want on her hit list.
I wanted back in her heart.
The music finished, the crowd roaring as Aly brought Leann on stage and my cousin took her bow. The thick scent of flowers collected backstage, set in the bouquets fathers offered their kids, in the arrangements that spilled around the stage. It made my sinuses ache, but then I’d been feeling the weight of my practice schedule, my own depression, since the night Emily’s father glared at me in Tremé.
It was that look, that disgusted glare that had me backtracking from what Aly worked in me.
“You shouldn’t let him get to you, keiki káne.” My father had good intentions. He’d had my back when one glare from that man sent me down the sidewalk like a coward.
“He can’t help it, Kona. That man is cruel.” My mother never thought I was to blame for Emily’s death. Both of them really, were blinded by their love for me. Both unable to understand why I couldn’t let go of what I’d done.
The accident, my guilt, I pushed both back, even managed to work out what I’d say to Aly once the crowd finished congratulating her.
“Leann,” I shouted to my cousin over the small crowd of fourteen year olds who buzzed around her. “Leann!” I tried again, catching her attention. “Where’s Aly?”
But the woman was distracted, busy with the dance parents and the hyped, chatty dancers so she only nodded toward the dressing rooms.
My head was still full of that image of Aly on the stage and the reminder it set off in my chest. The way she smelled, the way she moved and it was those thoughts that dulled my awareness, that kept me distracted as I walked into the dressing room.
Once my eyes adjusted to the soft yellow light in the dressing room, and focused on the couple in front of me, everything I thought I wanted with Aly was stripped clean from my brain, followed by a white hot primal rage. Blind rage burned in my veins at the sight of Tommy pinning Aly to wall, at his damn hand on her hip and his mouth moving toward hers.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped at him, stepping under his arm when he tried to move closer.
But that bastard was quick, wrapping his fingers around her bicep before she could put more distance between them. “Beautiful, come on. It’s been too long. Give me some relief.” He moved and so did I, right at him as he pulled her against his hips.
“I don’t think so, motherfucker,” I said, then slugged Tommy so hard he went straight to the floor.
“Ransom!” I barely had my hands on him again, tossing him back before Aly came at me, trying hard to keep me off him.
I had to say something for the guy, he knew how to recover from a punch. “What the hell is your problem, asshole?” he yelled as
he came up fast, got right in my face, moving with a quickness that was surprising.
I could not see past my rage. I hadn’t touched anyone in anger since I was fourteen, but I shoved Tommy’s chest because I wanted him away from Aly. I wanted him to know he couldn’t touch her. Ever. “Maybe I don’t want you hitting on her.”
“Maybe? Dude, please. You cut ties, I heard.” He brushed the blood from his lip. “Son of a bitch, I got an audition this weekend.” He glared at Aly like my attack was her fault. “This is the asshole you’re hung up on?”
“Shut up, Tommy. Get over yourself.” She stepped around me and even though he wasn’t between us anymore, I didn’t like her being even a foot in front of him. “You’re as tired as your freaking technique.”
“Bitch…”
“Say that shit again,” I threatened, moving Aly behind me while stepping towards Tommy, with my chest puffed out and my hands balled into tight fists.
He tilted his head, spitting once at my feet. “Take her. She isn’t worth the hassle.” He stepped backward, then spun on his heel and headed for the doorway, but stopped to glance over his shoulder at me. “Just remember, jackass, I’ve already been there, a fuck of a lot. You’re slopping up my seconds.”
I lunged for him, but Aly pulled me back. “Non, Ransom! Rete! Stop!” Aly said, tugging on my arm, but I jerked away from her.
“Him?” She glared at me and I couldn’t think of anything but that jackass on top of her. The image made my stomach roll. “That asshole? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I don’t remember needing your permission to sleep with anybody, especially when that shit happened way before I even knew you.”
She was unbelievable, not remotely embarrassed that she’d slept with that Albir Rojas wannabe. Then I realized that probably hadn’t been that long ago. Especially the way Aly talked about her father’s strict rules. She would have had to been out of his home before Tommy touched her. She’d have had to been at Leann’s loft. “You were seventeen?”
“Yeah and how old were you when you lost it?” I hated the way Aly looked at me, like I was a hypocrite, even though I was. “Don’t you dare fucking judge me.”
I couldn’t burn the image of them together from my head. “Fuck, Aly.”
“What? Was I supposed to save myself for you?”
I glared at her wanting to scream yes. “What the fuck were you doing back here with him?”
“I came in here to…” She stopped, crossing her arms. “You know what? It’s none of your business.”
“None of my…how the hell do you figure that?”
She stepped right in front of me. “I didn’t ask you for any promises. You didn’t offer any and then, in case it slipped your mind, you told me to back off. I did. And before you say it, calling me Fred doesn’t damn well count.”
“It fucking should!”
“I don’t even know what that shit means! So maybe you can explain to me how any of that shit gives you the right to get pissed about my ex…whatever he was, trying to kiss me.”
“You know it’s not like that.” My voice went low and I knew she probably heard the warning in my tone.
“Really? You think I should just wait around for you to stop your damned moping?” The insult bit even though in the back of my mind I knew she was right. Aly had every right to be angry at me for all the bullshit I’d given her these past months. Still, I wasn’t used to anyone calling me on my shit like she did, not now, not in the heat of the moment when I was all jacked up. I didn’t like it and I guess that was what made me step closer, a threat I knew I’d never follow through with. Aly challenged me with a cock of her eyebrow, not backing down.
Finally, when I let myself calm a bit, when that rage I felt had tempered to mere anger, I stretched my neck, moved my head to the side probably looking like an asshole who didn’t care about her at all. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how you can fuck me and then try to jump on him tonight. Shit, Aly, didn’t realized you moved that fast.”
“What the hell did you say to me you fucking bata?” She pushed me then, her own anger peeking into her flushed cheeks and I blinked, my jaw working.
Again she tried pushing me, seeming even angrier when I didn’t answer her, but I caught her hands on my chest. “Don’t fucking push me again.”
“Then don’t you damn well piss me off! You honestly thought that I was trying to jump him? You could accuse me of that? Really? Ala de traka!”
It was her rage, the quick rush of her emotions moving her features and how quickly she blinked, as though she was fighting the urge to cry that had my anger dimming. “Aly…”
“Non, modi, Ransom I’m done.” I let her shove me again before she stepped back, head shaking like she couldn’t believe she’d let me get under her skin. “I am so done with this bullshit. You want me, you don’t want me, you need me, you don’t need anybody and you say I move fast? You wanna talk about all the girls you’ve serviced?” I started to leave, walked to the door, but Aly jerked me around. “What? Was I too much for you? Did I not stick to your rules? Guess I did, you knew my name. That broke rule number one, right?”
I had no idea what she’d heard about me and was sick that she knew just how I’d managed to get through the noise and guilt in my head. I was embarrassed, I was ashamed, but my jacked up pride wouldn’t give in to that. Instead, Aly knowing what I’d done, precisely what I’d done, only pissed me off.
“Yes, you fucking did!”
I wanted to kiss her and shake her at the same time, and from the way she pushed against my hold when I grabbed her arms, I knew she probably had the same contradictory feelings.
“Ransom! Ransom!” Leann’s voice was panicked, loud and broke the anger heating the room as she screamed at me.
We both turned, out of breath, as Leann ran into the dressing room, her cell clamped between her fingers. “Get to Lakeview,” my cousin said, her eyes somewhat wild although it was obvious she was trying to stay in control. “Keira’s on her way to the hospital. The baby’s coming and it’s…something isn’t right.” I started to move but Leann stopped me. “Take Aly with you. Kona needs you both.”
23
If there hadn’t been worry, Aly’s attitude might have bugged me more than it did. But there was worry, a lot of it as we sped down the interstate in my Mustang. Leann had no real details, only mentioned her husband Will picking up Koa from the neighbors and that my parents had left the lake house in an ambulance.
Dad wouldn’t answer his cell, so that worry I felt when we left the recital had clotted into something tangible, something that felt much more like panic by the time Aly and I parked and ran through the large, dome-shaped awning of the hospital’s main entrance.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any information for you. She was taken in for an emergency C-section. That’s all I know, sugar.” The woman behind that long, wooden desk wasn’t a nurse. The badge hanging from a turquoise lanyard around her neck told me as much.
Elizabeth Dunning, Welcome Desk Hostess.
That had to be the stupidest job title I’d ever heard of, but then at the time, I wasn’t thinking about help that wasn’t helpful. I could only worry about my mother.
Luckily, Aly wasn’t the sort to wait on someone else to get her where she wanted to be. I damn sure hadn’t had experience with that, so it was Aly that walked away from that desk and Mrs. Dunning’s forced, plastic-looking smile, guiding me to the maternity ward waiting area.
The No Entrance sign was a glaring reminder that something out of my control was happening to my family beyond those swinging metal doors. There was no window, no way for us to access a doctor who could give us an update or slip inside to find Kona and find out what the hell was going on with my mother.
“This is bullshit,” I muttered when we waited in front of that No Entrance sign like two kids helpless without adult supervision.
“There’s nothing we can do right now,” Aly said and even though she made s
ense, even though she probably thought she was being helpful, I hated her, just a little bit.
“You don’t think I know that?”
My voice was loud enough, sharp enough to grab the attention of the people in the waiting room with anxious smiles on their faces. They were a collection of older folks with gray/blue hair huddled next to each other, worried looking fathers and mothers who kept eyeing those metal doors and other people who were likely aunts, friends, and siblings that seemed impatient but still excited.
My shout had removed the easy smiles from their faces and, I noticed as I slumped into a faux wooden chair with stain-guarded red fabric, had only irritated Aly further.
She didn’t sit right next to me, but did join me on the same row of chairs—the one facing those damn metal doors.
“Losing your temper isn’t going to help.” She said that with her face turned away from me and her legs crossed. When she started shaking her foot like the small action was the only thing keeping her attention divided enough so she wouldn’t smack me, I rested against the back of the chair, breathing in deep. I needed to rein in my fear. I needed to not take any damn thing out on Aly.
“It…I don’t know what to do in situations like this.” It was weak to admit, but at least it was honest. I didn’t think Aly appreciated it. Maybe she was just too damn mad at me to care. Either way, the only response I got from her was an increase in that foot shake and her head shaking as she looked out over the wall of windows on the other side of the room. “I’m…I can’t lose her.”
“Why do you do that?” she asked, snapping her attention back to me. “Every damn time something happens that you don’t like, something that scares you, you think the worst. You always think the worst, Ransom.”
I wanted to yell at her. Right then, I wanted to tell Aly she knew nothing about me, that how I was, what I thought, what I fucking felt was something she’d never understand. Something hateful, something stupid and defensive was just on the tip of my tongue, but Aly must have seen it coming in the tight grind of my jaw because she stood up then, glaring down at me like I was a damn idiot.